This is a song about "A pan"

You say the art's dying, nah brother buy an album, the plan

Crack skulls with a frying pan and cooked you up like eggs and ham

Hard as a motherfucker, tell em i was ham

This is why i'm hot much hotter than a frying pan

You faggots had your chance to pan me, i plan to be grimy son,

Every woman that know us think uzoma my cousin

Start the applause, a rebel soul lifted

A dead-pan soul attributed to this kid/

Nigga, i'm a bastard, i fuck with chord keys

Peter pan in my youth, fucking fairies

I awoke to be cookin like a fryin pan,

Can you picture my specific plan

I’m only dealin' with you, nothin' to do with your man

Im lightning in a skillet your a fuckin flash in a pan

A store that dosen't get a

Now hey little mama